


you crave the applause, yet hate the attention

by skybluetrades



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Human Furniture, Living Statue - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybluetrades/pseuds/skybluetrades
Summary: With a sigh, Achilles found himself unclipping the brooch that fastened his chlamys and removing his armor and the chiton underneath it. He climbed up onto the plinth as the shades surged around him and the Renovator instructed him how to pose.It’s only a job,he told himself.To stay in the Master’s good graces. So you can continue helping the prince.And, he went on when the thought did little to cheer him up, of course, it was only for a day. Or night.
Relationships: Achilles/Shades
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	you crave the applause, yet hate the attention

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what the hell this is. Based on [a kinkmeme prompt.](https://hadeskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/741.html?thread=235749#cmt235749) Please mind the warnings.

Bartering had never been Achilles' strong suit in life; it was the sort of thing he had had others to do for him. When he arrived at the House of Hades he wasn’t well-acquainted with the idea of a _contract_ either, though he certainly would be in time. 

Each year of Achilles’ servitude in the House very much blended into the next, for good reason: not much happened in the House, and for the most part Achilles' charge had been a simple one: guard the hall. Occasionally there would be a disturbance among the shades queueing in front of Lord Hades but even that was hardly much cause for concern; any shade that wanted to cause problems usually had their rage quelled when approached by the greatest of the Greeks. Achilles was left with little to do.

Then there was the prince; training Zagreus had been a welcome distraction, as the prince was a quick study and patently adored his teacher for some reason. But all children, even gods, eventually grow up. Zagreus had outgrown Achilles’ lessons and, later on, the very House itself in his quest to seek out his mother. 

Achilles had assisted him in that endeavor, first by helping the lad access his weapons and later on giving Zagreus the Codex, that book that had been Achilles’ preservation from boredom during his long years in the underworld. Lord Hades did not know the extent of Achilles’ aid, but that did little to forestall the god’s anger. Achilles had had a number of strained audiences with the lord of the dead since Zagreus’ first escape, all of them filled with vague threats that Achilles himself had very little fear of. After all, long ago Achilles had signed away the only thing he could possibly still care about; what more did Lord Hades think he could do to him? Achilles had nothing left to lose.

_Be careful of your tone and temper, Shade. You are in my employ. You could be wandering the pastures of Elysium again instead. Or lesser plains, if I so choose_ , Lord Hades had told him when last they spoke. And so, it was with less surprise than he might have felt that Achilles was informed by his employer that he was being sent to Asphodel.

“My lord, you are—you do not mean that you are voiding my contract, do you?”

“Hardly,” said Lord Hades. “I’m merely sending you to Asphodel for the space of an afternoon.” He paused, wrote something on one of the many rolls of parchment that constantly surrounded him before going on. “Or evening,” he added.

Achilles gave a silent sigh of relief. “Very well, my lord. For what purpose?”

“The wretches in my employ tell me that the denizens of Asphodel are deeply unhappy. Restless and deeply unhappy.”

Achilles nodded. “Because of the lava again?”

“Indeed, the meadows have flooded once more. One of my stewards down there—The Wretched Renovator—has requested I send you to him.”

Achilles creased his brow. “I’m not quite sure how—“

“No doubt the shade will tell you of your duties when you get there. Now go, he will meet you at the gates of Asphodel.”

“Yes, my lord.” So Achilles went.

At the gates of Asphodel waited for him a contingent of shades. Most of them wore diaphanous cloaks like the shades in Tartarus, some in tints of blue and teal and others in the deeper red shades typical of Asphodel.

Most disturbingly, some of the shades seemed to hold no fear of the heat, and cloaked themselves in the very magma between the islets themselves. It was disconcerting to walk to the barge under the eyes of this spectral crowd. Achilles had been used to being looked at, even admired, during his life, but during his afterlife he’d become...well, an afterthought, to everyone except Zagreus. Being studied made him nervous.

The group waiting for Achilles whispered at the sight of him. He walked up to the shade who seemed in charge, whom Lord Hades had described: the Renovator. He was taller than the rest and more distinct somehow. Less like a ghost and more like a man. The Renovator had probably been middle-aged when he died, and he had evidently worked outside, for even though a certain sickly-cast hung over him, his skin looked as if he had once spent a great deal of time under the hot Greek sun, weather-beaten despite the wide-brimmed petasos he wore on his head.

Achilles followed the Renovator and the crowd of shades to the dock and onto a huge barge that held even more shades, all of whom turned to look at him. He tried to ignore their stares and instead listened to his employer for the day (or night). The Renovator had started to explain to Achilles his task. 

“The boss got this idea that works of art would raise morale around here," the Renovator began. 

"I see," said Achilles. "I'm not an artist, though. What do you expect me to do?"

"You're a model of course.". The Renovator looked him up and down critically. "You _are_ Achilles, aren't you?"

There was something less than flattering in how he said it, as if the Renovator couldn't believe it himself, and yet it was odd. How long had it been since anyone (besides Zagreus) had called Achilles by his own name? Achilles nodded. "So then you are taking me to an artist who will sculpt or draw me?"

The Wretched Renovator shook his head. "No, no. Lord Hades suggested that I cut out the middleman and just have you pose for us." He looked Achilles up and down again, this time his gaze landing critically on the long chiton Achilles wore. "You'll need to change, of course."

"What?"

"What you’re wearing," said the Renovator, as if Achilles were stupid. “You’ll need to change out of it.” Something about the no-nonsense tone in his voice made it hard for Achilles to argue with him.

The barge finally reached its destination with a loud thunk. The gangway reopened and the shades filed out onto the shore, which was the site of a huge open-air market.

It wasn't the first time Achilles had seen this underworld agora, as he'd visited Asphodel previously in the course of his duties, but he'd never seen it as full as it was now. Mortals had kept dying long after Achilles had, and a great number of them ended up here in Asphodel. The surplus population wouldn't have been a problem, if it hadn't been for the flooding, of course.

Thankfully, most of these shades were too busy conducting their business at the market to pay him much attention, though some of them did give the Renovator and his guest curious glances as they strode by. Achilles wondered if Charon was nearby, as the boatman was the original provider for most of the goods being sold here and tended to keep an eye on the proceedings. Achilles wasn’t sure if seeing a familiar face (even a face as fearsome as Charon’s) would be a welcome sight right now or not. 

Achilles was led to the highest point of the market, where there was a plinth erected. It was not very tall but it was wide enough that several people could stand on it. 

The group of shades around them had grown, and they all were looking at Achilles. The Renovator was looking at him too.

"Well?" asked the Renovator, and Achilles blinked. 

"Well, what?"

"Are you not going to get changed?" When Achilles only stared, the Renovator went on. "On my authority, invested in me by the master himself...'

Before the other shade could finish with his threat, something clicked in Achilles' head; the Renovator wanted him to change, but he wouldn't provide anything for Achilles to change into. Of course, Achilles was meant to pose in the nude.

Achilles looked around; the shades were still staring at him, but there was nothing hungry in their gaze. The Renovator himself looked more bored than anything else, as if he had just ordered Achilles to move a few bolts of cloth for one of the shopkeepers.

With a sigh, Achilles found himself unclipping the brooch that fastened his chlamys and removing his armor and the chiton underneath it. He deposited them in a basket that the Renovator held out for him, and climbed up onto the plinth as the shades surged around him and the Renovator instructed him how to pose.

_It’s only a job,_ he told himself. _To stay in the Master’s good graces. So you can continue helping the prince._ And, he went on when the thought did little to cheer him up, of course, it was only for a day. Or night.

~

Eurydice very often bought her ingredients directly from Charon himself; the boatman was utterly inscrutable but he seemed to have an odd tolerance for her, though the price he charged for pomegranates and nectar wasn't that much better than the shades in the agora.

When Eurydice did go to the open-air markets, she tended to attract a lot of attention. There simply weren't that many nymphs in Asphodel, or anywhere else in the Underworld, as far as she knew. No one ever gave her trouble, but people tended to stare and give her a wide berth. 

This time, as she picked her way through the stalls, her attention was drawn to a crowd in the center of the agora. Eurydice could see many shrouded heads surrounding a golden-haired statue that had been erected since last she'd visited. Eurydice felt her curiosity get the better of her and she drew closer to the statue at a moment when the crowd of other shades thinned out slightly. 

The statue took her breath away; it had been carved with such loving detail she had to appreciate it. During her life she very rarely visited temples, and she had had little chance to see a work of art like this. The statue depicted a golden-haired man, posed with his spear held aloft and down on one knee. The plinth he stood on was raised but when he kneeled he was nearly at eye level with his audience.

She found herself thinking of the statue as a "he" rather than "it" because the sculptor's attention to detail was such that it was hard to believe this was a piece of stone. No breeze stirred in Asphodel, but the statue's hair was so lifelike it looked like it could have waved in such a wind if it had existed. As she drew closer, she saw delicate blond hairs on the statue's chest and forearms, glistening with sweat as if the statue were a real person sweltering in the heat of Asphodel. 

The only thing more beautiful than the craftsmanship of the statue was the subject of the statue itself. There was a plaque in front of it that read: “The Warrior Achilles.” The statue of Achilles stared off into the middle distance with a strange expression on his face, something between concentration and confusion on his face. The lines of his body were graceful, the muscles of his back and backside taut and beautiful, as if waiting to strike down his many enemies as she had heard in the poems.

Eurydice couldn't help it; wondering at how the stone would feel, fully expecting it to feel as warm and soft as real flesh was, she reached out and touched the statue on the side, pressing her hand into the flank, just at the dip where the waist met the hip.

Just as she did, the statue blinked.

She gasped, and to her horror she found it had not been a trick of the light; the statue turned its head and, to her further horror, opened its mouth and spoke. "Are you alright, miss?"

She gaped, withdrawing her hand as if bitten. She felt like a fish that had been unceremoniously hauled up from the Phlegethon. She hadn't thought it was possible to blush after she died, but her face was flushed hotter than the magma of that very river. "I'm so sorry. Holy shit. You're _real._ ”

The statue -- no, the _man_ \-- he grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

" _You_ don't need to apologize to _me_ ," she said, and while she was still embarrassed, part of her wanted to smile. "Sorry for getting fresh."

He seemed like he wanted to smile too. While maintaining his superb pose — really, it was incredible, she didn’t blame herself for being fooled, he held himself so still — he turned his head slightly and spoke to her out of the corner of his mouth. "You're Eurydice, aren't you?"

Again she was shocked, though not quite as shocked this time. "Yes, I—how in the world did you know that?"

"Forgive me if I’m being over-familiar," he said, which was a funny thing to say, given the circumstances. "Your story is quite well-known to us back in the House where I work, and I know there are few nymphs like yourself here in Asphodel."

Normally she might have resented anyone alluding to her past, but under the circumstances she couldn’t have made herself cross even if she had wanted to. Before she could respond to him there was a loud clang that made them both jump. An official-looking shade wearing a wide-brimmed hat had just struck the side of the plinth, glaring at Achilles. "The artwork isn't supposed to move."

"The hell is his problem," she muttered once the overseer shade had turned away again. 

The shade of Achilles appeared to roll his eyes. “I suppose it’s in my contract with Lord Hades. No moving.”

"You can't move but you can still talk to me, right?"

The shade-statue eyed her. "I suppose. You're probably not supposed to talk to the artwork, though. It's just here for decoration."

She had to smile again at that. "So do you come here often? Is this a normal gig for you?"

"No, not at all. This is my first time. I'm supposed to be here to boost morale." He paused. "Do you feel your morale has been boosted?"

Eurydice dipped her head to one side, taking the entirety of him in. "Well, it's not _not_ boosted, I suppose."

As they spoke, another large group of shades had approached his plinth. The shades seemed to regard Achilles with wonder, but unlike Eurydice, they displayed no hesitation to reach out and touch him. Several of them rested their hands on his golden breast, others on his shoulders and back, while one especially bold one grabbed his spear and tried to wrest it out of his grip. "It's _real_ ," said one of the shades, but unlike Eurydice the realization only made them more bold; they rested their hands on Achilles with renewed interest.

"Hey, hands off the artwork," said Eurydice. Now the shade of the warrior Achilles appeared to be blushing, all the way down to his sculpted chest. " _Hey_ , did you hear me?"

None of the shades regarded her; nymphs, she supposed, weren't naturally that threatening. "Miss," said Achilles, who seemed to have caught the hectic expression on her face, "don't trouble yourself about me, I--"

"No talking," barked the overseer shade, and the rest of them laughed. One shade moved his hands from Achilles' midsection and put them over Achilles' mouth to mute his protests.

"Hey!" Eurydice said, but still no one would listen to her. The crowd of shades continued their bold exploration of the shade-statue's body, some of them touching Achilles so forcefully he couldn't have stayed still if he wanted to. Already the shades had wrested the spear from Achilles’ hand and were grabbing him by the wrists, pulling his arms back and bending him back.

Their exploration of his body had started out chaste but now a number of them were touching and rubbing Achilles down the lines of his pelvis and over his crotch, some of their hands even dipping between the cleft of his buttocks. 

Eurydice looked around for the overseer shade who had yelled at them earlier, hoping that he would step in once more, but he seemed utterly unconcerned. 

Eurydice looked back at Achilles; the look in his eyes decided her course of action. She wanted to get help; she wasn’t imposing enough to scare all these shades off, and none of them would listen to her anyway. But there was someone for whom this was not true in either case.

She would seek out Charon; this was the type of funny business he didn't like to see in the agora, and she was desperate to find him and see if he would put a stop to it.

~

When the nymph had touched him, her hand had been warm. Which wasn't surprising, exactly; it was Asphodel, everything here was warm. What was shocking was the jolt it sent through him. Not because the temperature or texture of her hand had been unpleasant; the press of her palm was smooth and dry, like that of beautifully polished wood. But the touch itself had made the ghost of his heart beat with a fervor he hadn't known for years.

He had found himself not self-conscious at all about being on nude display, but being touched even a little made the breath catch in his chest.

_It’s because no one’s touched you like that since you died_ , came a voice in his head, and he knew with a feeling of dread that it was true.

Speaking with Eurydice distracted him from his racing pulse. As they spoke, he was overcome with the vain hope that he could ignore the way his body was reacting if he only concentrated, but then the other shades approached him, and when the first of them touched him, right over the phantom heartbeat thrumming in his chest, it made it even worse.

Eurydice, for her part, seemed abashed at the other shades and tried to throw them off him. “Leave him alone! What’s wrong with you people?”

A couple of them jeered back at her but most completely ignored her. The one whose hand she had slapped away pushed her back, and she landed in the dirt beside the plinth, out of Achilles’ line of sight. Achilles tried to turn his head to look at her, but other hands were gripping him by the hair, pulling his head back to look forward.

For the first time, he found himself putting his strength to the task of resisting. He wrenched his head to the side and the shades pulled at his hair painfully. He shook off the hands on his mouth. “Eurydice?”

“I’ll be back,” she told him, catching his eye, and before he could protest she was gone.

He didn’t need help, he told himself, and wished he could have told her. After all, this unpleasantness was nothing next to the life he had lived. And besides, he was under contract to be here, and already in Lord Hades’ bad books. If an unsatisfactory report made it back to his employer about his behavior here today, things would only get worse back at the House, for him and for Zagreus. _Just weather it as best you can_ , he told himself. _What’s the worst they can do? Kill you?_

Part of him was grateful that his mouth was covered by one of the shades in the crowd, as he wasn't sure he wouldn't have made a noise at what they were doing to him. He closed his eyes, hoping to ignore the renewed sensations in his body, the sensitivity that was making his blood pressure rise, but if anything closing his eyes only made it worse, more intense than ever. He whimpered, and even around the fingers that had been forced into his mouth the other shades surrounding him heard it.

"Hey, look," said one of them, close by his ear. "He's--"

"I _barely_ even touched him there," said another shade and Achilles felt a hot swoop of shame in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was getting hard underneath the many touches of the crowd. He opened his eyes and looked into the faces of the shades surrounding him, but all of them seemed distracted by the one of their number holding Achilles' dick in his palm, touching Achilles' lightly and making him suck on the fingers in his mouth.

The shade to whom the fingers belonged was crouched right by Achilles' ear. "He _likes_ that," said the shade raptly, and Achilles felt another surge of embarrassment, his stomach contracting so suddenly he could feel his cock twitch.

"Give somebody else a turn, will you?" Another voice, somewhere further down his body near his legs.

The shade removed his fingers from Achilles' mouth, strands of saliva trailing after his hand. It was hard to feel very grateful, though; none of the other shades were relenting in their grip on him. He felt like he was on fire, and his chin was covered in his own spit.

“He’s getting off on it,” said the shade, the one by his ear, and the crowd seemed to murmur in appreciation. The hand on his dick squeezed him again, at the base and moving down to the tip. Achilles bit his lips, trying to not make a noise.

“No, no,” said the shade by his ear. “Let us hear you.”

He shook his head, but with another squeeze on his cock he couldn’t help himself. "Please," he gasped. "Please, stop, I--" He drew in another breath as the hand palming his dick squeezed it around the base, much harder this time, a punishing grip.

"But you like that," said the voice again, more assuredly this time.

" _Please_ \--"

The hand was inexorable and kept squeezing him. Achilles gasped again, the pleasure shooting through his body and probably only more potent by the sting of embarrassment in his gut and prickling at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t decide what would be worse; orgasming in front of them, in front of _all these people_ , or being left hanging out to dry, pinned down by the strange hands and his own intense shame.

Before he could decide, or before the shades surrounding him could decide for him, he heard a voice call out.

"Stop! Let him go. On my authority. In the name of Hades!"

_Oh gods, no_ , thought Achilles to himself. He had felt too warm just a moment ago, but hearing the voice sent a chill of pure horror through him. _Not him, please, anyone but him…._

He opened his eyes and saw Zagreus in front of him, holding out Stygius and keeping at bay a crowd of dozens of surprised-looking shades, who dropped Achilles like he was on fire. Achilles collapsed from his kneeling position onto his hands and knees as they let go of him.

"Hey," said the Renovator, who the entire time had been wholly uninterested in the proceedings until it seemed like they might come to an end. "You can't do that. I've got this statue here by the authority of Hades himself."

"Oh, piss off," snapped Zagreus. He looked down at Achilles. "Sir, are you alright?"

Achilles was still red-faced, kneeling as he had been the entire time, and still, regrettably, hard as a rock. Zagreus' face swam before him, but he wasn’t alone; Eurydice was there, too. 

"Sorry," she said to him quietly as Zagreus continued his argument with the Wretched Renovator. "Guess I wasn't fast enough, huh?"

Achilles nodded, but in fact contradictory feelings were rising within him; part of him wished that she had been even slower. An even bigger part hoped a fissure would open in the earth below them and send him to the depths of Tartarus so he’d never have to contemplate this again. Eurydice threw him his own chlamys; he barely had time to clasp it on his body before she and Zagreus hustled him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Will probably add a coda with Zag and Eurydice if I finish/if there's interest. Thanks for reading!


End file.
